


E6S ▪ 239

by clennam



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Bratty!Mickey, Canon Compliant, Car Makeout, Car rides, Denial of Feelings, Filling In the Gaps, Finger Sucking, First Date, Fluff, Jealous!Mickey, Kinda, M/M, Mentions of Corrective Rape, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessiveness, Season by Season, Self-Acceptance, Sexual Teasing, Shameless (Seasons 1-7), Smut, Submissive!mickey, car blowjobs, cute boyfriends being cute, dominant!ian, erotic asphyxiation, mentions of abuse, plus a little sadness :(, that Mickey plans!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-24 10:18:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19721674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clennam/pseuds/clennam
Summary: A series of (mostly canon compliant) car rides that Ian and Mickey take throughout their relationship. Meant to fill in some gaps.———Chapter 4:“Who gives a shit about what these fuckers think? I don’t know about you, but I don’t,” Mickey spoke lowly as his fingertips moved to trace Ian’s collarbone. “Though maybe we should go somewhere else if we’re gonna move to the backseat. Lotsa’ cops and kids here.”





	1. Ian Gallagher Needs to Shut the Fuck Up

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is dope!
> 
> \+ This chapter is set in season 2.

“‘Ey, Gallagher!” Mickey yelled as he opened the driver side door of his car. He stepped out and turned to look at Ian’s house, throwing his hands in the air before continuing, “What the fuck are you taking so long for? We gotta go! Let's fuckin' go!”

A few seconds passed before the front door flew open to a flustered, scrambling Ian who, between his clumsy shuffling and general disorder, caught glimpses of Mickey’s scowling face hovering over the roof of the car. “Sorry!” he called out, dropping his backpack, which hit the porch with a thud, to put on his jacket. Mickey shook his head in exasperation and began to get back into the car.

Once his jacket was somewhat on, he threw his backpack over one shoulder and scampered down the steps to the car. “Fiona, close the door; I gotta go!”

Ian nearly tripped on the curb into the passenger side seat. His hands rushed to put on his seatbelt, but he kept missing the buckle’s opening. After fumbling with it nervously for a moment, Mickey leaned over the console, told him to stop fussing, and in one slow and calculated motion, locked in Ian’s seatbelt. Ian chuckled and thanked him, placing his backpack on the floor between his legs.

“Whatever,” Mickey said as he put the key into the ignition and turned it. The car started up, and he pulled away from the curb. Ian took a quick but deep breath to try to calm his adrenaline before unzipping his backpack and reaching in for his notebook and flashcards. He opened the notebook, thumbing through the pages filled with highlight and a mixture of red and black pen.

Despite the supposed urgency they were under, Mickey was driving both safely and right under the speed limit. His actions made even less sense when he said, “Linda’s gonna have our asses, you know. She gets real bitchy when we’re late, and I don’t wanna--are you even listening to me?”

Ian wasn’t listening to him. Instead, he continued to scan his notes, dragging his index finger under strings of words. “Hey, Mick, do you think you could help me study for my algebra test when we get there?” he said absentmindedly, looking over at Mickey.

Mickey scowled and furrowed his brow, glancing over at Ian while beginning, “How the fuck would--”. He stopped himself, though, and relaxed his face and posture before responding softly, “Yeah, sure. Whatever, man. I guess.”

A small smile crept across Ian’s face. He looked back down at his notebook, reviewing again, in the back of his mind wondering if he perhaps highlighted too much. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t completely sure if just reading his pretty looking notes was helping him study for the test or if he should actually be doing practice problems like his teacher suggested, but he reasoned that any studying was time well-spent.

It was quiet for a few minutes as the two rode into the city. At the red lights, Mickey would catch himself looking out from the corners of his eyes onto Ian’s notes, trying to figure out what the fuck all the variables meant and how Ian could understand any of it. He just sighed, though, and continued driving. 

Ian then pulled out his flashcards and began flipping through them, trying to memorize formulas and theorems and, because his teacher was insane, the names of the dead dudes who contributed to the field. After every few cards, Ian would look out of the window and onto the pedestrians and cute dogs prancing on the streets before going back to his reviewing.

“Hey, Mick. I had a lot of fun a couple days ago. It was lonely at the store yesterday. Was… weird not having you there reading your shitty magazines,” Ian said, not looking up from his flashcards.

“The fuck you getting at, Gallagher?” Mickey snapped back.

“Well, you know, I feel like we have good talks, and we laugh a lot together. I… like being around you. You know. It wouldn’t be so bad if we hung out together outside of work and stuff,” Ian said casually, flipping his flashcard over for an answer.

Mickey sighed heavily as he readjusted in his seat, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead of them while tapping his fingers nervously on the steering wheel. His breathing deepened, and his jaw clenched.

Ian looked up at him, awaiting a response. He put his stack of flashcards down onto his notebook and said, in a comforting voice, “Hey, come on. Don’t be like that.”

“Be like _what_ , Ian?” Mickey hissed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

Ian sighed and turned away from him. He directed his gaze again towards the people living lives outside of their car, imagining what they might have on their minds. He observed the passing traffic signs that he wasn’t quite sure if Mickey was paying attention to. Evidently, he wasn’t, because they almost ran a stop sign.

Ian began quietly, “I just thought you and I--”

“Ian!” Mickey yelled, cutting him off. His frustrated shout filled the whole car, and before Ian could turn to look at him, Mickey was cutting across two lanes, looking for a spot to pull over into. All of Ian’s flashcards slid off of his notebook violently, some falling back into Ian’s open backpack, others cascading off Ian’s legs and down around his feet. He had initially missed a parking spot at the end of the block they were on and so reversed messily into it. Mickey’s inattention caused them to nearly back into the car behind them; the accident was only avoided by a last-second decision to slam on the breaks, sending the two boys forward in their seats. He exhaled heavily while tearing the key from the ignition, throwing it into the dusty cup holder.

Ian stared at Mickey, his mouth slightly agape, trembling. He watched Mickey bring his hands to his face and cup his nose, hearing his breathing change from quick, short breaths to much longer and deeper ones, evidently in an attempt to calm himself down. As much as he tried, he couldn’t stop staring at him. He tried to stabilize his shaking hands by pressing them into his lap, but the fear continued to roar in him.

Mickey closed his eyes tightly before speaking into his hands, “Ian, I don’t think you know what you’re fucking getting at here.” He dragged his hands down his face and slapped them on his thighs. “We’re not fucking boyfriend and girlfriend. There’s nothing fuckin’ between us, okay? We work together.” His tone slowed down to a more gentle but still firm one. Now looking at Ian, he continued, “That’s it. Now, can we just fuckin’ go to work so I can make my parole officer happy, and we don’t fucking talk about this?”

Ian felt tears welling up in his eyes, and he swallowed hard to offset them. He was worried that if he started crying, Mickey would just up and leave, and they would never see each other again. He didn’t want to put him in a spot where he had to confront feelings he didn’t understand. He closed his eyes and breathed in a very shaky breath before turning to look back out the window. “Yeah,” he replied weakly.

Back in his regular, dry, nonchalant voice, Mickey said, “Alright. Glad we can come to an understanding,” as he took the key from the cup holder and put it back into the ignition, starting the car and carefully pulling out of the parking space. "Man, I gotta clean this fuckin' car."

Ian didn’t pick up his flashcards nor did he look at Mickey for the rest of the ride. He didn’t even really move until they got to the store. Mickey, however, found himself occasionally glancing over at the still redhead, worried about what he might be feeling. Worried about if Ian will even want to talk to him at all after this. Worried about what was going on between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also--in case the title of the work makes no sense, it's the license plate of Mickey's car. ;)


	2. Terse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is wonderful!
> 
> \+ This chapter is set between 3x07 and 3x09.

Days had passed, and Ian had not heard a word from Mickey. In fact, he hadn’t heard anything about Mickey at all, as if he had dropped off the face of the planet. He had tried to covertly weasel some information about him from Mandy, but as she was clueless as to why Terry beat Mickey’s ass so severely in the first place, let alone their secret relationship, he gained nothing he didn’t already know. He was also discovering that he didn’t enjoy being in the dark.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it--the corrective rape. He couldn’t stop thinking about Mickey’s pained, pleading face staring at him helplessly from the adjacent couch as he laid like a powerless doll at the mercy of its sadistic owner. He couldn’t forget the insurmountable despair he saw in his swollen blue eyes and how they seemed to scream out unnecessary apologies to him. No matter how much weed he smoked or how many hours he slept, his consciousness and unconsciousness always pulled together to produce the same heart-rending image. He didn’t think Mickey Milkovich could be reduced to nothing but small cries and whimpers. He didn’t think he would ever ask for help. But, in that moment, all he needed was for Ian to save him. But he couldn’t. So now Ian laid in his bed, smoking and scratching at himself compulsively, trying to think of how he could heal and fix the past.

It was the following Tuesday when Ian decided to take a walk. He didn’t have a specific destination in mind, but before he realized it, he found his feet stomping towards the Milkovich residence. He eyed the house from down the block, observing its visibly chipped paint and the ever-changing assortment of random shit on the lawn. He wasn’t going to go up to the door--no, he wasn’t going to even go near the house. This was his rule for himself. He was going to remain on the street parallel to the house and hope that Mickey would see him or feel him somehow and understand that everything was eventually going to be okay. Maybe that would be enough for now.

Ian placed his hands into his jacket pockets as he began to saunter down the sidewalk, eyes fixed on the Milkovich house. As he edged closer to the house, though, his perfect image was disturbed by a tan roof peeking through the bottom of his field of vision. Directing his gaze downwards, he saw Mickey’s car with its owner sat sullenly in the driver seat. A small smile spread across Ian’s face as his pace quickened, and he crossed the street. The car wasn’t technically the house, Ian mentally reasoned as he approached the vehicle, so everything was still going according to his plan.

Stopping a couple of feet short of the car, Ian tilted his head to get a clearer view of Mickey through the window. Surprisingly, despite Ian’s stature causing an obvious change in the scattering of the light, Mickey didn’t flinch a nerve or muscle. He stayed perfectly still, eyes facing his lap. He didn’t even notice that anyone approaching. Ian walked over to the passenger side of the car and pulled the handle. Momentarily surprised that the car was open, he entered the vehicle trying to conceal his smile.

Mickey slowly turned his head to the new body in his car, but his eyes showed no signs of registering that this guest was Ian. He turned his attention back onto his lap, bowing his head.

Ian was extremely confused, to say the least. He thought Mickey didn’t even recognize him. He tripped over his words, opening and closing his mouth multiple times. It wasn’t until Mickey spoke after some awkward choking noises did Ian calm down. “Why the fuck are you in my car, Gallagher?” he asked with little emotion in his voice.

Ian, slipping back into his casual voice, responded, “Well, door’s open so I assumed you wanted visitors.”

“Lock's been broken for a couple days, but that doesn’t mean that the ‘stay the fuck out of my property’ rule changed.” He hardly sounded like himself. He spoke like a shell devoid of any feeling.

Ian chuckled, expecting Mickey to do the same, but when Ian’s giggling was met with an unsettling silence, he petered out. He cleared his throat and was silent for a few moments. Mickey stayed inhumanly still.

“How’s your eye doing? It looks pretty bruised,” Ian said.

“Yeah, well. Hurts,” Mickey mumbled, shrugging.

“Sorry.”

Mickey tilted his head towards Ian, but his eyes never left his lap. He brought his hands together, twiddling his thumbs absentmindedly.

Ian alternated between biting the inside of his cheek and chewing on his bottom lip nervously. He scanned the floor under him, noticing a white piece of paper peeking out from under his seat. He leaned over and pulled it out from its hiding place, at first struggling to get a grip. 

“Hey, look at that!” Ian announced, recognizing the paper to be one of his missing flashcards. “Ah, René Descartes. Cool coordinates, better hair. You know he always had this stink eye in his portraits? Man, I wish I could show you,” Ian began laughing. “Trust me, though, he’s always got this mean look on his face, like he _knows_ he’s better than you. I’ll show you his mug when I can.”

Mickey didn’t react. Instead, he turned to look out of his window and leaned his head against it, exhaling through his mouth.

Ian stopped laughing gradually. He echoed Mickey’s sigh, staring at the other boy intently for a moment before slumping back into the seat.

“Did you go to the clinic about the cuts on your forehead? Not infected or anything?” Ian said eventually as a fruitless attempt to start a conversation.

“No. They’re fine,” Mickey replied softly.

Ian darted his eyes around the car for a few seconds before he quickly and unexpectedly sat up in his seat.

“Look, Mick, I’m sorry this happened. The sleepover was great. I had such a fun time,” he said gently. When no visible response was detected, Ian placed his elbow on the console and leaned closer. “Hey, look at me. Please.”

Mickey, however, didn’t move aside from shifting his right hand to his knee to gently rub it. He sighed, his breath leaving a temporary fog on the glass near his mouth.

Ian chewed on his lip again, looking at the dust surrounding the gearshirt and all of the crumbs hiding in various crevices. The stillness between the two wasn’t tense--not at all. It was much more melancholy and somber. It felt like leaving a funeral.

It was Mickey who broke the long silence. “We shouldn’t be seen together.” He gave a short, weak wave towards his house. "Especially here."

“Sorry. I just can’t stop thinking about you. Or what happened,” Ian said slowly, pausing between each sentence.

Mickey remained quiet for a moment, trying to figure out what Ian may have been possibly thinking about. For Mickey, the situation was rather cut and dry. He did something he knew his dad wouldn’t approve of, and he got fucked up for it. Though, admittedly, he had tried to not think about what happened. When he was alone, he tried very hard to not have anything on his mind at all. 

Eventually, he said in the same emotionless tone, “Well then think about it at your place.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian sighed out before leaning back into the seat.

Ian turned his attention to the roof of the car, idly analyzing the stains on the fabric, making quick mental guesses about what each stain could be from. Then he turned his head towards Mickey. He loved how gently the golden light reflected on his skin, making him look so soft; how his paleness turned to translucency at this time of day, his bluish-green veins blushing his skin and serving as raised maps up to Mickey’s hands. God, how he wanted to hold his hands. He appreciated how light and velvety he looked right then. How he desperately wished to lean right over and kiss him. And maybe he could.

“Can I get a lift home?”

“No,” Mickey said immediately in a voice that was comparatively loud to the one he had used before. He continued in a much fainter voice, “Sorry. Please leave.”

And so Ian listened to his love and did what he could to save him in that moment--he opened the door, stepped out, and left.


	3. Own to Cure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is great and appreciated.
> 
> Heads up: there’s some sexy stuff in this chapter.
> 
> \+ This chapter is set before the events of 4x08.

Mickey Milkovich was regarded by many as an angry man. His temper was seemingly nearly always on the brink of igniting and his default state of existence was defensive and reactive. Mickey was infamous for his terse speech, limited patience, and the intimidation that radiated from him. However, though Mickey often appeared angry, annoyed, and explosive, he wasn’t the type of person to hate things, surprisingly. He was rather apathetic when it came to most of his opinions, an attribute that was wholly hidden under his typical guise of rage. If one were to ask him about some person who seemingly pissed him off to hell and back last week, he was likely to respond with an unenthusiastic shrug. 

Evidently, Mickey Milkovich wasn’t really the type of person to give a shit when it came to most things. But even the most indifferent people have their few breaking points, and Mickey’s was driving Ian to the club he worked at. He fucking _despised_ driving him to the club. He hated the route, he hated the ridiculous amount of speed bumps that seemed to grow in number everyday, he hated the people he saw walking down the street, and, most of all, he hated how cocky and smug Ian would become as they got closer to the neon atrocity that was always filled from door to door with perverts.

Each time they rode to the club, Mickey found his grip tightening on the steering wheel more and more. Tonight, he was fucking whiteknuckling it. His teeth grinded together, the tenseness in his mouth sinking into his blood and then flowing down to his core. His toes wiggled in his loose shoes with agitation. As they reached the last red light before the club, Mickey’s vexation caused him to hit on the breaks a little harder than usual, springing an up until then enthusiastic and giggly Ian far out of his seat, the shock sending his phone out of his hands and down to the floor of the car.

“Mickey! What the fuck?!” Ian exclaimed, furrowing his brow and putting his hand over his heart.

“Sorry,” Mickey grumbled, barely audible. Though his ferocious grip on the steering wheel remained constant, he felt his anger quell a bit when he realized he had knocked Ian out of his smug daze. He took a deep breath in.

Ian focused on stabilizing his breath before leaning over in his seat and picking his phone up off of the floor, examining it for any damage. He thought about the situation at hand and glanced up at the road ahead, contemplating. “Hey, Mick. Is everything alright?”

Mickey grunted in response, the noise emerging from him bordering on animalistic. Ian opened his mouth but before he could make a sound, the light had switched to green and Mickey was slamming on the gas so hard that the momentum sent Ian flying back into his seat.

“Jesus!” Ian yelled as they sped through the intersection.

As they pulled up to the backend of the club, Mickey’s driving became considerably less risky. They parked between two groups of men who appeared to be dispersing. Mickey took the key out of the ignition and exhaled suddenly through his mouth as he dropped the key into his lap.

Ian intended to begin speaking again but was again interrupted, this time by one of his regulars tapping on the window. Ian’s eyes lit up, and he rolled down his window.

“Hey, Curtis. I didn’t know you were on tonight,” a husky, low voice said, filling the car.

“Oh, I’m full of surprises—just you wait,” he replied in a sultry, promising tone, dragging his fingers slowly along the contour of his jawline.

The burly man towering over the car chuckled before reaching in quickly to run a finger along Ian’s wandering arm. “I’ll see you in there, then.”

Ian smiled, giving a little wave to the man as he walked away. Ian rolled up his window and turned around to Mickey with the same alluring smile and half-closed eyes. Mickey, however, was not feeling nearly as chipper as Ian did in that moment. He sat outraged, his eyes practically throwing daggers at Ian’s body.

Ian’s smile half faded. He cocked his head, asking innocently, “What?”

Mickey swallowed hard but didn’t respond.

“What’s wrong?” Ian whined after a short silence, drawing out the last syllable.

Mickey seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in. He shook his head from side to side and blinked rapidly, seemingly returning to the present situation.

Ian’s smile stretched further across his face before he let out a sing-songy, “Hmm?”

Mickey breathed in deeply. “I don’t fucking like how these gross old queens talk to you, and I definitely don’t like how you act with them or when you’re here in general.”

Ian’s smile slowly morphed into a frown with each word that left Mickey’s mouth.

“Can you elaborate?” he asked.

“It’s just...whenever we come here, you get that shit-eating grin like you’re excited to have a bunch of fat faggots grabbing for your cock and slippin’ twenties in your tiny fuckin’ shorts,” Mickey said harshly.

“Well, shit. I’m sorry,” Ian responded, sitting back in his seat, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know it made you feel that way.”

“It pisses me the fuck off, Ian,” Mickey snapped, his voice wavering between every other word.

Ian sat quietly for a moment, digesting this information, his tongue gliding between both sides of his mouth. Eventually, he raised his eyebrows, having formed a hypothesis for the reason behind Mickey’s anger that he was eager to test immediately. His bedroom smile returned to his face.

“Mickey,” he began in a very slow and teasing voice. “Are you jealous?”

Mickey took in a small breath and his eyes darted nervously between the neon sign staring at them through the windshield and at the suspiciously flirty expression strewn across Ian’s face. When Mickey began to slide his fingertips across his palm from anxiety, Ian knew that he had hit the nail right on the head.

“Tell me, Mick,” he continued, sliding slowly over the console until his and Mickey’s faces were a breath apart. “Are you jealous?”

Mickey swung his head quickly from side to side trying to construct an answer before uttering a simple “well—” that was promptly cut off by Ian beginning a declaration.

“Because,” he said while grabbing Mickey’s right arm by the wrist, “you have nothing to be jealous about.”

Mickey sucked in a quick breath and looked down at his wrist in Ian’s hand, appreciating the tight, uncompromising grip Ian had.

Ian brought Mickey’s hand mere centimeters from his lips before guiding it down to his chest, dragging the backs of Mickey’s fingers over his pecs. “Because this is yours.”

He then pulled Mickey’s hand down to his crotch, watching his hand bend around the bulge forming in Ian’s pants. “Grab it,” he commanded, and Mickey obeyed instantly, his fingers molding around the raised imprint of Ian’s cock through his pants, applying a gentle pressure. Ian moved closer to Mickey’s face, hovering over his ear.

“That’s yours, too,” he said lowly.

He heard Mickey’s breath hitch as his fingertips slowly began massaging Ian’s, unfortunately concealed, arousal.

Ian smirked deviously and leaned back a bit. He yanked Mickey’s hand away from his cock, eliciting a small, surprised yelp from the older man. He began trailing the hand slowly up his own body, watching it bounce over his muscles. The already slow place became even slower as Mickey’s guided hand reached Ian’s neck and chin before stopping right over his mouth.

Mickey’s eyes had been tracing all of the movements Ian made his hand take. The final destination of his gaze was Ian’s brilliant, green eyes, which only seemed to be even brighter in the dark. Ian dragged Mickey’s thumb across his bottom lip before saying in a hushed but seductive tone, “And these are all yours, and they exist only for you.”

Ian watched Mickey’s eyes flip between his own and his mouth. He swiped Mickey’s thumb over his bottom lip again before rounding out over his top lip. When it reached the center of his bottom lip once more, Ian stared deeply into Mickey’s eyes before capturing the thumb between his lips, gently running his tongue against the edge of the nail. He took Mickey’s digit further into his mouth, sucking on it in a slow but strong manner. He watched the desire build in Mickey’s eyes, observing how he began almost compulsively biting and licking his own bottom lip. Ian drew slow C-shapes with his tongue along Mickey’s fingerpad. He then drew the thumb out of his mouth and rested it right over his lips before giving a long, teasing lick that began at Mickey’s palm and went up the length of the digit. Mickey moved closer to Ian momentarily before moving back, licking and then biting on his lip, wanting more. Ian smirked and leaned over the console, planting a gentle kiss on Mickey’s lips.

The longer they kissed, the more Ian’s grip loosened around Mickey’s wrist, the arm eventually dramatically falling to lay on the console. Ian then placed his hand right over Mickey’s collarbones, slowly gliding it up towards his neck. Once he reached it, Ian tightened his grip around Mickey’s throat, feeling his boyfriend breathe in sharply and tense up in pleasure.

Ian pulled away from him suddenly, keeping the hold on Mickey’s throat constant. Mickey’s eyes darkened and his eyelids drooped slightly. Ian’s devious smirk returned to his face again, and he leaned over to Mickey’s ear, whispering in a possessive voice, “And you’re mine.”

He felt Mickey nod slightly under his hand. He turned back to Mickey’s face, and they began kissing softly again. Ian eventually released Mickey’s throat from his grasp, causing Mickey to quietly whine into Ian’s mouth, disappointed that his hand had left its rightful place. Ian smiled against Mickey’s lips and brought his hand down to Mickey’s chest, tracing around his nipples and between his muscles, stopping the movements when he reached his abdomen.

They pulled apart again, Mickey pulling towards Ian, desiring more. Ian brought his hand up to Mickey’s face, gently caressing his cheek, and reassured him quietly, “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

Mickey sighed and nodded, his pants becoming more and more uncomfortable.

Ian returned back into his seat fully, smiling gleefully at his boyfriend, who looked like a sexually frustrated but owned mess.

“Hey, you know, you could come in with me. Be like my personal bodyguard; throw a grenade at someone if they’re being annoying to me,” Ian suggested, cocking his head towards Mickey.

Mickey’s breathing was still heavy--he hadn’t quite recovered from the show that Ian had just put on and made him the star of. He eventually registered Ian’s request and breathlessly nodded to show his agreement with the suggestion.

Ian’s smile brightened, and he took one of Mickey’s hands into both his own. “Great. Let’s get inside then,” he said, watching lovingly as Mickey’s eyes lit up and a relaxed, dopey smile came across his face.


	4. Under The Bean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always lovely and always appreciated.
> 
> \+ This chapter is meant to be set sometime after Mickey comes out in 4x11.

“I want to go on a date!” Ian declared loudly with a smile pulling across his face from ear to ear as he trailed along Mickey’s tail, watching the older man’s back as he circled the kitchen. “We’ve never been on a date; let’s go on one.”

“Fuck you mean we’ve never been on a date?” Mickey responded over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. Rummaging through a drawer, he continued, “We’ve been on lots of dates.”

Ian’s head knocked back slightly in bewilderment, his mouth twisting into various tense shapes as he thought back to the times he and Mickey spent together. He hummed loudly before responding as if still contemplating, “Mm, I don’t think so, Mick. Driving to the dugout and fucking over the railing isn’t really a date.”

Mickey continued turning over the random assortment of items in the cluttered drawer before growling defeatedly at it and slamming it shut. He began to circle the kitchen again, one half of his mind trying to decide which drawer or cabinet to check next, and the other formulating a response to his unconvinced boyfriend.

“I don’t know, man, sounds like a date to me. It was nighttime and shit, too,” Mickey said distractedly. He turned around to face Ian, impatiently waving his arm in a circular motion in front of himself and scrunching his face up in a bid to help him think of any previous dates they could have been on. “What about when we went to McDonalds a few weeks ago?” he said while excitedly pointing a finger at Ian, believing he had finally thought of an answer to his inquiry.

Ian’s jaw dropped open as he scoffed and placed an outraged hand on his hip. “Going through the drive-thru at McDonalds is not a date. Moreover, the subsequent ‘adventure’ of us hurriedly eating while you drove well over the speed limit down the freeway so you could go yell at people who owed you money is also, surprisingly, not a date.”

Mickey let out a thoughtful “huh” and cast his eyes towards the ceiling for a second before turning back around and kneeling on the floor to open a lower cabinet.

“Mickey!” Ian said loudly in an attempt to get his attention, his body jolting with force as the name left his mouth.

“Jesus, alright!” Mickey retorted as he whipped his head around to look up at the towering, menacing, dateless Ian. “We’ll...go on a date,” he continued quietly, shaking his hand weakly in the air.

A familiar smirk danced across Ian’s face, and he crossed his arms across his chest. He felt accomplished and was trying to keep his smugness contained, but when he noticed Mickey’s cheeks blushing, he realized that his poker face was probably piss poor.

Despite his mild embarrassment, a smile flickered across Mickey’s face, but before long he had turned his attention to the cabinet next to him and was reaching into it. “You’re such a fuckin’ girl. You didn’t wine and dine me before the first time we banged, but I didn’t complain,” he said, voice echoing around him and back out into the kitchen.

“You know, I’m sorry for that. That the pipe you had raised right over my head just dampened my creative spirit a bit, but I’ll keep that in mind for the next time,” Ian said with rolling eyes. “What’re you looking for, anyways?”

Mickey’s grunt was barely audible over the crashing of clutter coming from within the cabinet. “Well, you know, it’s funny you--I found it!” he replied as he triumphantly pulled out the aforementioned “first bang” pipe. It was the same pipe, it was an unmistakable sight for Ian, but about half of the pipe’s original length was missing.

Ian’s eyes widened, lines forming in his forehead as the memory jumped out at him. “You still have that?! Where the fuck is the rest of it?”

Mickey shrugged before almost ceremoniously laying the vestiges of the pipe across both his hands, gazing at it longingly. “Lots of memories, you know…” he said, trailing off. He stood up suddenly, clutching the pipe firmly in one hand before hooking his arm around Ian and spanking his boyfriend’s ass with it. “Also a good weapon!” he chimed out as he took off to the other side of the house.

“Oh, you son of a--come here!” a surprised and oh-so assaulted Ian grunted out before running right after Mickey, chasing the wonderful sound of his boyfriend’s infectious, playful laughter.

* * *

The two had to depart from one another for the day, but Ian excitedly talked Mickey’s ear off up until the moment Mickey absolutely had to leave about how eager he was for their date. Mickey acted annoyed and playfully brushed Ian off repeatedly. His unfeeling facade slipped each time, though, and he would catch himself smiling and chuckling as Ian repeatedly went back and forth between who was going to organize the activity. After much discussion, whose source was primarily Ian, Mickey quelled his jabbering boyfriend by insisting that he would organize the ordeal in exchange for his silence. Ian agreed, but not without a final loud exclamation of his excitement as his body vibrated with mounting anticipation. He was a dork, Mickey admitted to himself, but, man, if it wasn’t exciting being with someone who just wanted to spend time with him always.

It was late evening, long after the light outside had died, when Mickey parked messily on the curb outside of the Gallagher residence, cursing at himself under his breath. He left the car on as he pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts for Ian’s name. Mickey barely reached the letter D when he noticed his boyfriend flailing out of the front door and practically falling down the steps. Mickey jumped in his seat and raised his eyebrows in shock when he saw that Ian didn’t even bother with unlocking and opening the gate on the edge of the property--he simply hopped over it, undeterred, and continued in his pursuit to the passenger side of Mickey’s car. He flung the door open and planted himself in the seat, almost forgetting to shut the door, as he sat there staring at Mickey, breathless.

“How the fuck’d you get out here so fast? You got some sort of sixth sense now?” Mickey asked, his phone lying uselessly in his hand.

“Nope!” Ian chirped as he quickly buckled his seatbelt. “Just a window!”

He looked at Mickey with a idiotic smile, the corners of his mouth seeming to almost twinkle from the energy in his body. Mickey grinned back at him as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

“So, where are we going?” Ian asked, his voice finally returning to normal.

“I’m not tellin’. You’ll just have to see,” Mickey responded in a taunting voice as he peeled away from the curb, glancing over to see Ian balling his fists up in excitement.

Their first stop was a convenience store. Before exiting the car and heading in, Mickey slapped a small stack of cash on the dashboard in front of Ian and waved his hand over it like a magician, insinuating that Ian could get whatever he wanted on his dime. Ian grabbed the money with an enthusiastic grin and forgot to wait for Mickey as he jumped out of the car and ran into the store. Mickey chuckled quietly to himself as he also stepped out and proceeded to drift along Ian’s path. He strolled behind as Ian as the tall redhead, giddy with zeal, searched the store for both his and Mickey’s favorite snacks and beverages. Eventually, the supermarket safari concluded, and Ian and Mickey were paying the cashier and hurrying back to the car to continue to the next part of their date.

Ian was seemingly unsure of what to do with his body as Mickey drove them deeper into the heart of the city because he kept reaching into the shopping bag and rearranging their purchases, filling the car constantly with the rustling of crinkly packaging. At one of the red lights, Mickey noticed Ian fussing with the shopping bag once more. He drew his hand over to place it on Ian’s thigh. Ian darted his eyes up in confusion, looking at Mickey’s profile.

“Relax, Ian. We’re almost there,” Mickey said reassuringly. Ian smiled in response and gingerly laid his hands on top of Mickey’s.

Soon after, they had reached Millenium Park and were lucky enough to get a parking spot that allowed them to see both the clumps of tourists and Cloud Gate (which is colloquially referred to as The Bean) in the distance. Mickey took the key out of the ignition and leaned over Ian’s lap to retrieve the shopping bag and began distributing its contents.

“The Bean? We’re at The Bean?” Ian asked as he stared out the window at all of the tourists moving haphazardly about each other.

“Yeah,” Mickey replied as he placed a bag of chips onto Ian’s lap. He paused his movements momentarily and blinked at the shopping bag. He then shot his head around to look at Ian. “What? You’re not a fan?” he said in a defensive manner. He felt a blow to his pride. He thought he had failed to meet his boyfriend’s expectations.

Ian continued to stare out the window and cocked his head to the side. He then turned his head to Mickey with a sincere grin on his face.

“No, Mick. I like it a lot. Thank you for thinking of this,” he reassured the worried, bordering on defeated man before him. He then pulled the chips off of his lap and began to open the noisy bag. “I just didn’t know what to expect from you. I didn’t expect you to become a complete sap and take me to a tourist trap.”

Mickey kissed his teeth. “Hey, fuck you!” he blared before succumbing to another chuckle.

Ian laughed back and motioned for Mickey to continue taking out their purchases from the bag. Mickey set Ian’s bottled tea and his own canned beer into the cupholders. He took out other small miscellaneous snacks like peanuts and chocolates and stuffed them into the cubby in front of the gear shift. With the last of their purchases recovered, he crumpled up the bag and tossed it into the backseat. He then turned his attention to opening his beer, sipping from it as he watched Ian eat his chips sidelong.

They sat silently for a couple of minutes with the only sounds between them being the crinkling of bags and unnecessarily loud sipping. Eventually, Ian pointed to a group of teenage girls who had congregated on a rock not far from them, chatting. The girls reminded him of Debbie’s friends--short skirts, tight shirts with bra cups poking out, and makeup that was applied in a manner meant to age them significantly.

“Holy shit,” Ian said with a full mouth, “do you think those little girls lost their parents? Maybe we should step out and help them look for them.”

Mickey laughed at Ian’s statement as he opened a package of Kit-Kats.

“Think they only things they lost are their virginities to some gross old fuck who may have been their dad,” Mickey added.

Ian smiled and was about to turn to look at Mickey when a sudden commotion startled him. The group of girls had erupted into a vocal argument that seemed to only increase in volume with each passing word. Two girls, a tall blonde and a stout brunette, were standing forehead to forehead, exchanging angry gestures and furious looks at one another, occasionally breaking apart to stomp in outrage at the other person’s remarks, only to come back together to continue the squabble.

“Holy fuck!” Ian blurted out, gawking at the fiasco as he slowly moved another chip into his mouth.

“Jesus,” Mickey sighed out before continuing in a falsetto, “‘I can’t believe you sucked my dad’s dick, Jacqueline! That was my dick! I came out of that so it’s my fucking property!’”

Ian let out an unexpectedly loud laugh before tacking on, in a similar falsetto, “‘Well, Rebecca, if you hadn’t made my grandpa and my uncle eskimo brothers, maybe I wouldn’t have had to! They won’t fuck me anymore! So fuck your infected pussy and your dad’s limp fucking dick! Next time I vomit, I’ll let you know what his crusty dick tastes like coming back up. Spoiler alert: _the fucking same!_ ’”

Upon Ian concluding his impression, the stubby “Rebecca” had sent a punch squarely into “Jacqueline”’s side, as if the mock conversation Ian and Mickey had concocted were true. The pair cringed in unison, letting out empathetic cries as the fist made contact with its target. The rest of the squad simply screamed and flailed their arms helplessly as “Rebecca” began kicking her foe in the legs and side, pressing the pointy heel of her stiletto into her opponent’s stomach. Evidently, she did not have much practice with wearing such outrageous shoes because her balance wavered and she fell over. Her fall gave “Jacqueline” enough time to recover and climb onto the toppled girl, and she quickly began pulling on her hair viciously.

“Jennifer, no!” one of the girls screamed as she lunged onto her friend to pull her off. This was the first piece of information that the two men, huddled safely in the car, could decipher.

“Hey, I almost got her name right!” Mickey rang out, his voice echoing into his beer can.

“Do you--do you think they heard us?” Ian asked quizzically, reaching for the peanuts without taking his eyes off the fight in front of them.

“Fuckin’ hope so because you know the shit we came up with is way better than the shit they’re actually fightin’ about,” Mickey tittered.

Police officers came running over to deescalate the fight, and they began strategizing on how to successfully pull the group of screaming girls apart. When they started picking off the girls like daisies in a field, Ian and Mickey simultaneously expressed sounds of great disappointment that their little show had ended.

Mickey broke off another bar from his Kit-Kat and scanned the plaza before them for another potential story. After a bit of scouring, he pointed his finger at a freakishly tall but slim man in a well-tailored suit and round glasses who was talking on his phone in one hand and carrying a tan briefcase with the other.

“Check out the suit,” he said, his finger following the giant’s trail.

“‘Listen, Ashley, I know you want me to leave my wife and run away with you to your second cousin’s farm in the middle of shit creek, but I’ve got eleven kids to feed,’” Ian began, waiting for Mickey to continue.

Mickey scoffed at him. “You’re shit at this,” he teased, “‘No, Ashley, for the millionth fuckin’ time, you’re not gonna fuckin’ peg me again. I’m a cheater, not a whore.’”

“I think you’re off mark too, Mick,” Ian said as he squinted at the walking man and leaned his head over the dashboard, “because I’m pretty sure I can see the outline of his chastity cage through his pants. I think he _wants_ to get pegged again.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Mickey said in disbelief as he leaned closer to Ian to get a better look at the man’s crotch. “Fuckin’ A, I think you’re right. Damn, fucker’s probably got balls as big as planets if he’s walkin’ around commando while in a cock cage.”

They pressed their heads together temple to temple as their eyes followed the man’s movements. The suit stopped walking abruptly in the center of the plaza, wide-eyed and skin blanched. The man squirmed in his stance and attempted, and subsequently failed, to discreetly place his briefcase over his groin before running off in the direction in which he had come from. The two men watched him run clumsily over to a bathroom stall, which he promptly entered and thus disappeared.

“Fuck!” Mickey yelled, pounding his fist into his thigh, “I wanted to see what he was gonna do next!”

Ian snickered as he tossed his now devoid bags of chips and peanuts over his headrest and into the backseat. He placed the fingerpads of his index finger and thumb into his mouth to lick off the remaining seasoning. “Maybe I should put you in a cock cage, too,” he pondered out loud.

“Like fuck you will!” Mickey hooted, raising his eyebrows.

“Just an idea,” Ian uttered behind his fingers as he raised his other hand in surrender.

Mickey chortled quietly and turned back to face his steering wheel. He stared at his distorted reflection in the emblem etched into it before suddenly twisting his body towards Ian and placing a firm kiss on his cheek before shrinking back into his seat. However, Ian was drinking his tea during this time. Mickey’s suddenness had caught him off guard and caused him to momentarily lose his grip on the bottle. Droplets of tea dripped onto his shirt and his chin was stained with streams.

“Fuck!” he playfully yelled with a smile, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Mickey apologized in a breathy, giggly voice. He reached over Ian’s lap and into the glove compartment for napkins, grabbing a handful as Ian twisted the cap back on the bottle and dropped it back into the cupholder. “Lemme help you out.”

Ian pressed back into his seat as Mickey climbed over the console and sat in his lap, legs astride Ian’s lap. They gazed into each other’s eyes momentarily, but Mickey began blushing so he looked away onto the napkins in his hand, carefully peeling one away and dabbing Ian’s chin with it.

Ian noticed how Mickey’s eyes fixed onto his mouth as he cleaned him. As the older man scrunched up the used napkin in his hand and was preparing to turn away to discard it, Ian placed a forceful hand onto the back of Mickey’s neck and pulled him in close for a kiss.

Mickey tensed up in momentary fear and was about to press his hands into Ian’s chest to push them apart, but instead relaxed under Ian’s unyielding grasp, dropped the napkins without care, and cupped Ian’s face between his hands as he returned the kiss.

Sensing Mickey’s bodily ease and enjoyment, Ian placed his other hand onto Mickey’s hip, hooking his fingers under his shirt and letting them slowly explore the small of his boyfriend’s back. Mickey moaned quietly against Ian’s lips in response and pressed their bodies closer together. Ian’s fingers kept creeping up further and further on Mickey’s back before climbing back into their original position, digging his nails into Mickey’s skin as his hand flowed down. After repeating the same progression of movements a few times, with each time eliciting a louder moan from his boyfriend, he was about to grab for Mickey’s ass before his eyes shot open, the reality of the situation slapping him hard.

Ian pushed them apart abruptly, prompting a confused groan and furrowed brow from his boyfriend.

“Mickey, do you want to keep going? Are you okay with people seeing us?”

Mickey analyzed his boyfriend’s perturbed face, but his tensed up features soon relaxed and were replaced with half-hooded eyes and an amorous grin. He leaned in closer to Ian’s face, placing them only a breath apart as he danced frisky fingers along the collar of Ian’s shirt.

“Who gives a shit about what these fuckers think? I don’t know about you, but I don’t,” he spoke lowly as his fingertips moved to trace Ian’s collarbone. “Though maybe we should go somewhere else if we’re gonna move to the backseat. Lotsa’ cops and kids here.”

A devilish smile spread across Ian’s face as he slid his hands around Mickey’s ass and slowly inched their bodies closer together again. One of Mickey’s hands swept down to caress Ian’s side while the other brushed against the bulge forming in Ian’s pants. Soon both of his hands were unbuckling Ian’s belt, his eyes fixed on the region.

“Guess we should probably take off soon then, huh?” Ian purred into Mickey’s ear, his grip tightening on his ass.

“Yeah...probably,” Mickey said, though distractedly because his attention absorbed with how Ian’s cock was growing in his pants.

Ian slid his hand up the available length of Mickey’s body before stopping at his chin. He lifted Mickey’s bowed head and admired his beauty as he pulled his boyfriend close, reconnecting their lips with a deep passion, fervor, and hunger for more.


	5. En Route, Heading South

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be awesome on this chapter! It's here, guys; the last one!
> 
> \+ This chapter is set in Season 7 whilst the boys are en route to Mexico.

“Man, it’s fuckin’ cold,” Mickey murmured as he tucked the blanket up over his shoulders and huddled closer to Ian’s bodily warmth, sniffling upon feeling snot beginning to leak out from his nose. “Arkansas blows worse than Illinois, man, fuck.”

Ian tittered to himself as he spread the blanket evenly over both their bodies and curved his left arm around Mickey to cradle his shoulders and pull him closer. Mickey situated himself comfortably into the contours of Ian’s body and leaned his head against Ian’s. They were as close as they could be, only the padding of their jackets separating their skin from touching.

“You know, for a Ukrainian, you’ve got some thin skin and love to bitch about the cold,” Ian teased. “I thought you’d feel right at home in this ice pit.”

Mickey kissed his teeth and was silently grateful that Ian couldn’t see the grin that came across his face--he enjoyed the teasing.

“Fuck you! I’m barely Ukrainian. Never even been to the fuckin’ commie dump,” Mickey shot back, shivering.

Ian let out a single howling laugh, “Okay, Mikhailo. Whatever you say.” He almost bit his tongue when Mickey unexpectedly whacked Ian’s thigh with an open palm.

Ian scoffed and lightly shoved Mickey with the weight of his body, evoking a short laugh from the smaller man. Mickey eventually laid his head to rest on Ian’s shoulder, his forehead and nose nestling into his neck, sucking in a lungful of his boyfriend’s scent and wrapping an arm around his waist. Ian smiled at Mickey’s discreet clamor for intimacy and bowed his head to rest it atop Mickey’s, his chin sinking into soft dark hair.

After a brief silence as the two adjusted to the new warmth and closeness between them, Ian broke the cozy peace with another dig at Mickey’s expense.

“So why couldn’t we get a hotel room again?” he inquired, his voice muffled against Mickey’s scalp.

Mickey raised his eyebrows, befuddled. They’d _just_ had this same conversation. “You got money?” Mickey sneered after he had collected himself mentally. He sat upright again and shivered due to the sudden loss of heat, but continued his grouse, “The only reason Damon ain’t here squeezed between us right now is because he’s got some girl out here who he’s been meanin’ to see.”

“Alright, alright,” Ian yielded, holding his hands up.

Despite Ian’s surrender, Mickey still announced his displeasure with a loud huff and a shot of his piercing eyes. He scooted away from Ian and muttered to himself in annoyance when he couldn’t move away anymore without having the blanket lift off of him. He was peeved, but not nearly enough to give up the little warmth he had procured. His bottom lip trumpeted out into a pout and he bowed his head.

Ian first observed Mickey sidelong, but once he realized his boyfriend’s separation from him was not going away, he slowly swung his head around to look at the side of Mickey’s face. His eyes slid over Mickey’s profile from his hairline, down the slope of his nose, and around his jawline before ending on his pursed lip and obvious pouty disposition.

Ian sighed out with a smirk and rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking pouting?”

Mickey did not respond, opting to exhale through his mouth and avert his gaze a few more degrees to his left, away from Ian.

Ian felt that this reaction was a challenge. The corners of his lips twisted up further into a more cocky and alluring smile as he pivoted the upper half of his body closer to Mickey, his hand reaching around and clasping onto the left side of Mickey’s neck. His breath ghosted over his boyfriend’s ear, and Ian could feel that his touch had elicited a slight tremble from the older man.

“Why are you pouting, Mickey? I was just giving you a hard time,” Ian said, his voice sounding light and innocent.

Mickey’s face flushed red from the sudden intimate touches and stammered while he tried to conjure a response. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times before he eventually began, “Well, it--I just--”

Ian cut him off, though, by sliding his hand down from the side of Mickey’s neck and onto his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. Ian glided his free down to the inside of Mickey’s right thigh, giving it a gentle pull as a cue for Mickey to spread his legs open. Mickey bit his bottom lip and complied, causing Ian to smirk again and zip the space between the two of them closed.

“You’re being really bratty right now. You know that, right? I don’t know why you are, though, because you wouldn’t be able to be rude like this if Damon was here. We wouldn’t be able to do any of this if Damon was here, actually,” Ian purred into Mickey’s ear, moving his hand up to touch the hardening cock hidden under Mickey’s jeans, “Maybe he did us a favor.”

Mickey’s breath hitched and he licked his bottom lip. His eyes were fixed on the impression of Ian’s hand through the blanket moving smoothly over him. Ian was watching his own movements, as well. He brought his other arm off of Mickey’s shoulder and cupped Mickey’s chin in his hands, lifting the other man’s head up and turning it so that they were facing each other. Mickey’s tongue smoothed over his bottom lip again, and his eyes alternated between Ian’s own and Ian’s lips. Ian took the initiative, ducking his head down to meet Mickey’s lips, the ensuing connection being soft and delicate, evoking the gentle touch Ian had on Mickey’s cock.

Mickey moved closer to Ian in attempt to deepen the kiss, placing his hands over Ian’s pecs and twisting the fabric of his shirt in between his fingers. However, this development made Ian both pull away from Mickey’s mouth and stop his hand moving abruptly, a warning look surfacing in his eyes as he lifted his neck up and looked down at Mickey.

“Put your hands down,” he ordered.

“What?” Mickey asked, quiet and meek sounding.

“Put your hands down,” Ian repeated more firmly.

Mickey’s lips parted. He glanced down at the hands he had placed on Ian’s chest and hesitantly removed them, placing them at his sides.

“Good,” Ian praised as he began moving his hand over the bulge in Mickey’s pants again. “Touching’s a one-way thing now since you were being so bratty. You don’t get to touch me unless I let you.”

Mickey sucked in a shaky breath through parted lips before nodding his head. Ian smiled, impressed with and turned on by his boyfriend’s obedience. Mickey’s eyes were wide with desire, staring up into Ian’s like a puppy waiting for orders.

“You wanna be good for me and take your pants off?” Ian suggested.

Mickey took a second to process the proposition before enthusiastically nodding his head and slipping the blanket onto the floor of the car. The cold that he desired to escape from before no longer phased him--the blood flowing in his veins and under his skin felt like lava coursing the ridges of a volcano, as if his body were trying to heat him from the inside so he could focus his attention wholly on whatever Ian said. After some initial struggle with his belt due to his excitement, unbuckled it and undid the zipper and button on his jeans before raising his ass in the air to shimmy out of his boxers and pants completely, leaving them in a puddle under his feet.

Ian licked his lips and directed his heed to Mickey’s hard cock standing up against his body, demanding the attention of Ian’s mouth or hands. Ian reached his hand up under Mickey’s chin to caress it, watching as Mickey relaxed and almost melted into his touch. He then glided his thumb up to Mickey’s bottom lip, pressing down so he could see inside of Mickey’s mouth. Mickey’s eyes darted between his untouched, quivering cock and Ian’s face, his cheeks hot from feeling exposed and being at his boyfriend’s mercy.

“Good,” Ian praised quietly, his thumb moving about the soft, wet skin of Mickey’s lips. Ian paused for a moment, catching Mickey’s eyes staring up at him with anticipation and surrender. Ian then guided his thumb into Mickey’s mouth, and Mickey instinctively curled his lips around the digit and laid his tongue flat under it as it pushed further into his mouth. “Suck on it.”

Mickey’s eyes widened and his body twitched with nervousness. He felt vulnerable as is, and now Ian wanted him to suck on his fingers while they stared into each other’s faces. The distance that was present when Mickey was on his knees and sucking Ian’s cock was nonexistent. His heart raced, and an even deeper blush ran through his cheeks and extended down the back of his neck. His jaw tensed, but he knew there was no running away from the situation. He saw the whites of Ian’s eyes shifting in their sockets, apparently scanning his face, awaiting his compliance.

Mickey’s cheeks hollowed out as he took Ian’s thumb deeper into his mouth, curling his tongue around the digit’s shape. His tongue traced itself up the length of the thumb before moving it to swirl around the tip and brush against the nail. Mickey continued sucking on the digit, pushing it and out of his mouth, casting the intensity in his eyes towards Ian’s shadowed form.

Ian bit at his bottom lip and began putting in his own energy into pushing his thumb in and out of Mickey’s mouth, enjoying the sting of the cool air blowing onto his saliva coated skin. The rest of his fingers cradled Mickey’s jawline, the fingertips pressing in under the jawbone. Mickey tilted his head backwards and took the thumb out of his mouth with a pop, and Ian admired how the moonlight poking in illuminated the ghost of his spit covered lips. Ian pressed his thumb along the length of Mickey’s bottom lip, warping it into a parabolic shape when it bunched up at the corners of his mouth. Ian gave a long lick to the palm of his hand and then wrapped it around near the base of Mickey’s cock. He pulled up his legs onto the seat before laying down on his stomach and placing his lips right over his occupied hand.

Mickey shuddered from anticipation, his breath short but heavy and shaky. He braced his hands on the reachable pieces of seat under him, his barely-there nails somehow finding a way to dig into the soft material in a bid to follow Ian’s orders as best he could.

Ian smiled as he sensed Mickey shift nervously underneath him, his weight seemingly unsure of where to go. Ian circled the tip of his tongue over and around the rim of Mickey’s slit before flattening his tongue and licking broad strokes along the head of Mickey’s cock. He then sunk down on the entire length, wringing out a desperate moan from Mickey. He began bobbing his head up and down, the angle of his neck twisting as he worked along the length, his tongue tracing the small veins as he went.

Mickey’s breath only expelled from between his parted lips and hastened as Ian’s head bounced on his cock. His fingernails dug so deep into the seat’s fabric that the skin on his knuckles stretched thin, allowing him to feel the air’s icy bite amidst the heat swelling in his body. His noisy breathing was clouded by the sounds of his soft but pleading moans, and his leg muscles stiffened.

Ian began moving faster, occasionally moving his mouth fully off Mickey’s cock until he heard Mickey wince from the ache caused by the air’s chill, before again enveloping his warm mouth and tongue around Mickey’s cock. His fingers were clasped in a strong grip around Mickey and wet from his surging spit. He bounced his mouth over the head of Mickey’s cock while his lubricated hand twisted about the shaft. He then abruptly pulled off, a trail of spit connected Ian’s mouth to Mickey. He looked into Mickey’s eyes, which were peeking out from behind his cheeks. He lazily studied Mickey’s pleasured face, adoring the crumpled up brow, the half-closed eyes, how his lips parted just enough to show his teeth, and how his body floated up and down with his heavy breath. He looked gorgeous, so vulnerable and pretty and docile, Ian thought.

“You can touch me now,” Ian said simply and quickly redirected his head and mouth back down onto Mickey’s cock, lapping his tongue on all sides of the tip. He moved his hand onto Mickey’s thigh.

Mickey sucked in a surprised breath. Before he had even realized it, his hands flew off of the seat and grasped onto Ian’s hair, pushing his boyfriend down until his tongue hit the base of his cock, then slowly pulling Ian’s mouth back up to the tip. Mickey flexed his pelvis upwards, bucking into Ian mouth. Despite his focus on controlling it, Ian’s gag reflex kicked in, and the lower half of Mickey’s body quaked suddenly as he almost lost control of his orgasm.

Ian smiled around Mickey’s cock for a second before he hollowed out his cheeks and fiercely licked and sucked the length, his drool pooling in Mickey’s waistline. Mickey’s breath shortened and quickened and his broken moans rang along the walls of the car. His fingers coiled in Ian’s hair and his head knocked back onto the headrest.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” Mickey stifled out, his voice raspy.

Ian accelerated his pace just a touch more and pressed his nails into Mickey’s thighs. Soon, Mickey’s cock was twitching, his hips were bucking up, his moans were thick, and Ian’s mouth was full of hot cum.

Mickey exhaled a lungful of air as his every cell, muscle fiber, and nerve relaxed when he sank his weight into the seat. He closed his eyes and began gently sliding his hands across Ian’s scalp. 

Ian disconnected all pressure that came from his mouth and moved off of Mickey’s cock. He sat up and swallowed before letting out a satisfied sigh. He leaned over to pick the blanket up off of the car’s floor and cast it over their bodies, making sure that every possible inch of Mickey’s exposed skin was covered by the comfy fabric. He then pressed close to Mickey’s body and wrapped one of his arms around Mickey’s shoulders, looping on the back of neck, smiling when Mickey immediately laid his head on top of Ian’s shoulder. Ian pressed the side of his face into Mickey’s silky hair, basking in the smell that travelled to his nose.

Mickey’s breathing slowed down to a normal pace, and he slid his hands over to Ian’s free one that was resting in his lap, bringing it into both his own. He exhaled a very quiet moan, lifted his head up to look at Ian’s face, and then pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Ian turned to look Mickey, admiring how perfectly the moonlight shone on his face, illuminating the half-closed eyes and the sleepy but satisfied grin on his face.

“Ian,” Mickey began with a drawl, “We’re gonna have so much fun in Mexico. Life is gonna be fuckin’ phenomenal. It’s gonna be December, and we’re not gonna be freezin’ our asses off in some shitty house. No--we’re gonna be fucking on a nice, warm beach in Cabo.”

His smile intensified as he laid his head back down onto Ian’s shoulder, his essence relishing in the finality of their fate and the comfort and security he had only felt with Ian.

But Ian--he stopped breathing momentarily.

“Yeah, Mick. It’ll be great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support on my first multi-chapter fic in about a decade. Please let me know what you thought--what you liked, what you hated, or any other concerns you may have. I love chatting with you guys.
> 
> Also, I'm currently workshopping another multi-chapter fic where Ian is like a mistress. Would you guys be interested in that?
> 
> Thanks again for your support and encouragement. :)


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